Stalemated
by Bob the Flying Monkey
Summary: Bakura spent his whole life pushing people away. Until I came along. But I quickly discover there's a reason he never let anyone in, for even a love as relentless as ours cannot shake the callous hand of death. Intimacy, though fulfilling, holds no say against the withering of the body. And as we deteriorate, I find myself wondering to what lengths I will go to keep him. Marik POV.
1. G

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Yu-Gi-Oh.

**A/N: As promised, I am compiling the chapters and adding more details to make them flow better. To clarify everything, I – Bob the Flying Monkey – am writing this all by myself (no help from Psycho); this is my first M-rated fanfic; and I am open to all kinds of criticism, so don't be gentle with me. **

**As far as the story goes, I've decided that it's partially AU – Bakura is not an ancient spirit who inhabits the body of another boy – he's simply a normal, college-age sophomore who was Marik's best friend before they started dating. As far as Millennium Items go, only Ishizu knows and possesses the power of the Necklace. The other Items are irrelevant at the moment. I might bring them in later, but they will have slightly different purposes if I do.**

**Now you may begin!**

* * *

_We sat together at the table, all our cards laid out before us – nothing hidden, nothing shaded, exposed to the very core. He sat and watched me as I contemplated my next move._

"_It's as simple as yes or no," Bakura said._

"_No, it's not," I replied, "Yes and no are never as simple as they sound."_

"_What do you _want_ to do?"_

"_I want to say 'yes'… but I have to consider the consequences of that move."_

_He fingered a lock of his hair as it dangled in front of his eyes like a shroud protecting him from me. Then, as we were now, he swatted the veil away, exposing himself to me further. "Is that why you haven't done it yet? You know what to do, but you won't because you're afraid."_

"_I am not afraid!" I protested. _

"_Then prove it, Marik," he said, leaning across the table and brushing my hand aside, taking it and squeezing it like he was comforting me rather than making my stomach defy gravity._

_I looked into his bold, sepia eyes and imagined waking up with the pride of the earth watching me greet each day he made beautiful for me. I tried to shift from his gaze, but the intensity therein had stunned me, and I couldn't move, couldn't remember my inhibitions, why I'd waited so long to answer him when I knew my choice all along. "Yes, Bakura. My answer is yes."_

_He smirked at me, but its characteristic wryness had been replaced by the thing that eluded him most – happiness. And it dawned on me as we sat at the furthest table from the door in the emptiest café in town that he couldn't be happy without me, just as I couldn't be without him…_

_..._

The alarm goes off, and I frantically grope the night stand before hammering it into silence. I check the time, exhale in relief when I realize I still have three more hours. "I must have dozed off," I mumble to myself, flitting out of bed and into the shower. My memories of last night pour from the showerhead and into my hair as I scrub and scrub to make myself perfect for this evening.

"My first date," I grumble to the soap, "First date ever, and I fall asleep while getting ready. I wasn't even up late. You don't think I'm getting cold feet, do you? Ra, I'm talking to a bar of soap. No wonder this is my first date." I finish up and hurriedly dry my hair so I can work with it better. It never agrees with my brush when it's wet.

After half an hour of fussing with it in vain, I snap and scream at it, "What the hell am I supposed to do with you?!"

"Take a razor to it," Ishizu suggests from my bedroom.

"I'm naked, Ishizu!" I exclaim, slamming my bathroom door shut.

"You have a towel. That's good enough for me."

"You're not funny," I reply, locking my door for good measures.

"I just came to tell you that your date will go fine, so don't worry about it."

"Have you been spying on my future again?" My sister wears this ancient Egyptian artifact called the Millennium Necklace. She got it from our mother when we were much younger – it's sort of a family heirloom. She claims it lets her see the future, but its power has never been proven to me, so I maintain a healthy bit of skepticism.

"No. I'm just saying what you need to hear."

"Well, it's not helpful. Get out." I return to my bland hair and make a few more attempts before I'm satisfied that Bakura won't give a damn about my hair if what I'm wearing looks good enough. But knowing Bakura, what I'm wearing won't matter after dinner if things go well.

I finally return to my room and tear through my wardrobe with the speed of someone who only has 45 minutes left to get ready for the most important event of his life. Me, in other words.

"Ishizu!" I shout, and both my sister and brother hustle into the room. "Help! I don't have _anything_ to wear."

"Would you like to borrow one of my dresses?" Ishizu offers with that cruel smirk of hers.

I glare at her full-force. "I hate you, you know. Odion, can you help me?"

Odion glances sideways at my closet, the corner of his mouth curving downward in defeat, and I know he would be even less help than Ishizu. But Ishizu pushes me aside and ravages my closet until she comes up with a sleeveless, purple, tight-fitting top and a pair of white cargo pants. "If you want a second date, this is what you need."

I take the clothes from her hands and lay them out on the bed to make sure. Dammit, she's right. "Thanks," I grumble. She nods and pulls Odion out of my room so I can get dressed and then freak out some more in private.

When the doorbell rings, I fly through the house like a raging jet plane and answer it before my annoying sister can even leave her room. "Hi Bakura, let's go," I say in a rush, giving the door a forced jerk shut and looping my arm through his before he has time to even get a word out.

"Ra, Marik, you act like I'm saving you from a concentration camp," Bakura snipes, but leads me down the dusky street to the restaurant he promised me last night. As we walk, he comments, "So, we're definitely going to my place after this."

"You catch on quick," I reply. We simultaneously drop our arms in order to hold hands instead. It's natural, like our DNA dictated we would hold hands as we walked down the sidewalk together. Natural, like the way his steps mirror mine, his height matches mine, his lips – Oh, Ra! What's he doing with his lips? Oh, just talking. I should probably pay attention.

"It's not the nicest café on the boulevard, but it is the most intimate. The waiters take your order, bring your food, and leave you alone. I told Nisa I'd be coming, so she's holding the corner booth for us."

"Nisa?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes. "Yes. The waitress that usually serves me. She's the only one who doesn't fear that I will kill her with just a glance. I'd say she should, but she gives me her discount, so I don't kill her."

"She gives you her discount? That's a mite sketchy, don't you think?"

Bakura smirks. "Do I detect jealousy? Don't worry – she's married with two kids. I doubt she fancies me."

I loudly sigh in relief, and he chuckles at my jest. _A good start,_ I think, _Now, if we could just get to the restaurant…_

Bakura releases my hand and pulls open the door for me. "Such a gentleman," I tease as I pass him.

"I'm just trying to get lucky, Marik. Don't think you're special." His voice is convincing, but the look in his coffee-colored eyes shows the fault in his guise, and I see his intentions run deeper than just a one-night-stand. Much deeper. He winks at me, then waves to a curvy brunette woman who salutes him and crosses the room swiftly.

"A corner booth for the love birds, or would the bed upstairs suffice?" she asks with a facetious smirk.

Bakura scowls lightheartedly at the woman. "Don't think I won't report you to the manager."

The woman's smirk widens, and for a moment I'm struck by how much she reminds me of Bakura. "Bill wouldn't do a thing. I'm too good in bed for him to chastise me."

"Then we'll take the bed upstairs."

"I'm sorry, it's being sprayed for bugs. But the corner booth is bug-free and comes with your very own view of your boyfriend's nose."

Bakura sticks out his tongue, and the woman seats us in the booth at last. She takes our orders and disappears. "I thought you said they left you alone?" I remark.

"She must have taken her Prozac recently. But she's smart, and she won't say another thing until we pay the bill."

I doubt his words, but decide to give the café a chance. It's a nice place – quaint, cozy, and not at all the type of restaurant I'd picture a guy like Bakura being a patron of. Nonetheless, I give it a chance.

And I am rewarded.

* * *

That night when we finish dinner, Bakura leads me back to his place. I'd been there before, but never stayed very often, and never seen the bedroom. So as Bakura tugs me down the dusky, forsaken streets, I ponder what mysteries this sacred room might have in store for me.

"This is it," he breathes as he wiggles a key into the lock of a door that's been neglected so long, it's started to fade from blue to gray. I'm shaking like a leaf when he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his room. He slides his arm down to my waist, taking my other hand in his and holding it aloft.

Then we're dancing in slow, loose circles that tighten to the beat of some unheard rhythm my heart starts to emulate. The longer we dance, the closer we get, pressing inward until I feel my ribs lock with his – a perfect fit just as are our fingers, and I can't help wonder what else. I continue to quiver, more noticeably now.

"Why are you shivering?" Bakura whispers in my ear, "Surely you can't be cold."

"I'm not. I'm –" but I'm cut short by my lack of understanding.

Bakura chuckles under his breath. "I know." I wait for more, but instead he gently presses his lips against mine, bringing my shivers, my thoughts, my heart to a halt. I kiss back, let my desire take over as I relish this moment with Bakura, the moment everything changes.

The arm around my waist has me ensnared, but in a way that makes me feel safe, secure in the nest of my beloved. In one fluid motion, he has me cradled in his arms, carrying me through his home, past rooms I've never seen, into a room I've only dreamed of. The door seals quietly behind us, but I barely notice it as we hover at the edge of the bed, and I pull away to question why he's hesitating.

"What's the matter, Bakura? Are you afraid?"

"Of course not. I'm… just making sure you're ready." We talk in whispers, perhaps afraid that anything louder will shatter the moment.

I pull myself up, softly brush my lips against his, and hum into his mouth, "I am."

Two words, and we're on the bed, so consumed in each other that I don't notice our clothes are gone until I feel the final article sliding down my legs. And then I feel it – feel his muscle probing mine like a glorious oasis in a drought. We slip into a mood so natural, the harmony of the earth with its plants would be envious. Everywhere he touches, I glow, and I soon feel like the sun is beaming through my pores, like a star preparing to be brandished by the hand of a god, my god, Bakura. And as he caresses my body, I get the surreal feeling that he's molding me into his perfect companion, and I trust irrevocably that he is what I've always needed, what I will always need and want and love.

This new revelation excites me, gives me the energy I need to take the next step, and I turn him onto his back.

"What're you –" but my intensions become clear as I take him into my mouth, sucking on his supple flesh with my hungry, tan lips. "Fuck," he moans, and wraps his slender legs around me.

"Slow down," I tease, "This is all you're getting tonight."

"Me slow down? You slow down. You're – aah…" Bakura's body quivers beneath me. I caress him with my tongue, shunning the fear that I'm doing it wrong from my mind. Bakura's trembling now, but an unexpected calm befalls me, and I continue with what I'm doing, confident in my technique.

The tension melts, mounts, piques, and dissolves. His body goes limp with ecstasy, shudders rippling down his back and concentrating in the middle. At last, I get a mouthful of his pleasure.

I lie down beside him and wrap my arm around his chest. "You swallowed," he pants, "gods, I love you."

"What else would I do with it?"

Bakura laughs airily and kisses me on the forehead. "I love how much of a virgin you are."

"Were," I correct him.

He kisses me again, on the lips now, but only briefly as I still have his essence on my breath. We lie in silence for a while, and I've almost fallen asleep to the rhythm of his heart when he decides to speak. "You truly amaze me, Marik."

"I hope that's a good thing," I reply.

"It is. When I brought you here tonight, I had every intention of letting you off easy. Maybe I would play with you a bit, let you touch me, but in the end I thought you'd chicken out and ask for more time. And I planned on giving it to you."

I lift my head and meet his eyes. "This is what I wanted."

"What we wanted," he corrects me, rolling onto his side and shimmying down to my level. He smooths my hair from my face, lingering at the base of my jaw. He kisses me again, folds me into his arms, his upper leg intertwining with mine. When he releases my lips, his breath is ragged with emotion, steamy against my chin in a way that constricts my blood vessels with panic. "Marik," he begins in a rough rumble that threatens to break, "Can I trust you with a secret?"

I want to tell him that I know he loves me, reassure him that I love him too, but something in his fragile tone stops me, and I know my consent alone is what he needs. "Yes."

He takes a deep breath, another one, and I swiftly retrieve his hand, squeeze it encouragingly. At last, he continues. "I was a virgin… you know… before you."

I don't know what to say. I never gave much thought to it, but I realize I assumed that he wasn't, or at least that he knew everything there was to know about it. I'm not really shocked, but I know that his ego needs a boost, so I react with surprise. "But you're so confident. You had me convinced I wasn't your first."

He snorts rather abruptly, and I jerk out of his grasp. He chuckles at my reaction, and I glide back into his arms. "You're a terrible liar. You knew I was a virgin."

"No," I reply honestly, "But I also didn't think you were."

He considers it, then draws me back in. "I believe that."

"It was pretty obvious that I was, though."

He smiles and reattaches to my lips. We exchange heat and fluids and hormones for what seems like hours before we sink seamlessly into sleep.

* * *

I awake before dawn, before the first rays of light penetrate the holes in the blinds over the bed, to find Bakura still sleeping. I quickly realize what has awaken me. Unlike the peaceful slumber I experienced during the night, Bakura's face is beaded with sweat, a frown furrowing the beauty it usually holds. He jerks his head fitfully, mumbling things I don't comprehend. The one word I can make out, "no," is repeated over and over until I shake him awake.

Bakura jolts upright, panting heavily. "Marik?" he demands in a panic, groping the bed in his blinded state.

"I'm here," I reply, taking the hand that lands on my knee. "Relax. I'm right here."

He turns toward me, studying my face in a frantic manner. I assume his eyes have adjusted to the dark when he calms down, extends a shaking hand to my face. I take it, press it against my cheek, my lips, kissing his palm until he lies down again. His breathing slows as he stares into my eyes. I move toward him ever so slightly, giving him ample time to protest, never leaving his gaze. When recognition lights his eyes, he slides an arm around my hips, and we embrace each other in the quiet of his room.

He kisses me. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I woke you," I answer.

He looks away, hiding behind his veil of white locks. I stroke his spine with my thumb, and soon he returns his eyes to mine. "It was a bad dream, is all," he whispers, but the tremors in his bones suggest otherwise. But I don't let onto the fact that I don't believe him. Instead I nod, pull him into another kiss that sends a shiver down his spine, but this is the good kind. I bury my face in his chest, clinging tightly to his waist as a reminder of my love.

For some inexplicable reason, I breathe in the scent of his sternum, and note aloud for him, "You smell like my body wash."

He tilts my chin up and kisses my nose. "And you smell like my cum."

I sputter in protest, but this only makes him snicker. He places his lips on mine briefly, then wrinkles his nose and pulls away. "Ugh, I wasn't kidding."

I stick out my tongue. "Maybe if you kept a toothbrush, I could do something about it."

"One night in the sack, and you're already asking to share the apartment."

"Well, what do you expect? I mean, you are _that_ good."

He grins at me, then gestures toward a door I hadn't noticed before. "Go powder your nose, or whatever you must. I'll wait for you."

"But that doesn't solve the problem of how you smell," I reply, tugging on his hand as I leave the comfort of his bed.

"Marik Ishtar, are you trying to seduce me?"

A tinge of scarlet shoots across my cheeks, but I smile secretively and answer, "You'll never know unless you follow me."

And just as I knew he would, he gets up, allows me to lead him into his bathroom.

The cream-colored wallpaper is just at the edge of being too bright for my dilated pupils, but Bakura reaches over my shoulder and turns a knob that dims the light fixed above the sink. There's nothing to take off – we're already naked from earlier that night – so we take no time to prepare before jumping into the shower. The warm water soothes me as it runs down my back, my shoulders, my chest, but Bakura good-naturedly shoves me out of the way so that he may enjoy it as well. I pick up a clean cloth from beside the tub and soak it before gently massaging his chest. He grabs a bottle and squirts it into the rag, making little effort to keep it from splattering on me. Then, to emphasize his point, he takes the cloth from me and massages my chest with it.

"Now you smell like my body wash," he teases me.

We wash each other quietly, content to just stand in each other's presence until Bakura decides he's not and hugs me to his chest. We touch, our chests as well as those two muscles that slowly rise to greet each other. My arms glide smoothly around his neck, and in the tranquility that befalls us, we spend the next sliver of eternity immersed in paradise, his lips lavishing mine with life until they find a higher calling in the crook of my neck. As he makes this transition, I feel the euphoria of our encounter last night rising from its slumber, and I fight back a moan as his hand leaves my hip for a lower grasp.

"Don't resist it," he whispers from my neck, "I like to hear your enjoyment."

And so the moan I was fighting escapes, and Bakura's lips leave my neck, travel along my collar bone, down my chest painstakingly slow, coming to rest just below my navel. He hesitates, and for the first time I wonder if he's less sure about our relationship than I am. "Kura." The word catches in my throat, and I have to clear it before I start over. "You don't have to do this, not if you're not ready. You don't have to prove anything to me."

"I'm not trying to prove anything. I just want you to know…"

I get onto my knees, as he is, and level with him. The water from the tap has his hair matted to his face, and I part it to reveal his earthen eyes. Their familiar fierceness has been corrupted by some new emotion I can't quite place, I only know he isn't used to. I coax him forward by his jaw, kiss him silently, and he closes his eyes before they can betray his vulnerability further. In a low voice, I tell him, "I know you love me. I love you, too, but if you think we're going too fast –"

"I'm not sure what I think," he cuts me off, shaking his hair into his eyes again. He straightens up, still on his knees, about to stand, but I restrain him, hug him tightly with my face between his shoulders. The dual streams of liquid flowing down his collar bone make his chest feel slimy, and I have to straighten as well, equal with him again. We gaze in through our souls' windows, each trying to assess the other's mentality. He clears his throat and clamps onto my shoulder, tries to push himself to his feet, but slips and knocks me onto my back, pinning me under his naked body. The aftershock springs forth from my mouth in the form of giggles, and pretty soon we're both laughing, sprawled out in the tub.

When a hush befalls us, Bakura meets my eyes again, this time willingly. He struggles to free a hand from behind my back, then traces temporary patterns in my forehead. "Why are you so good to me?"

"Because you deserve it."

He scoffs. "No I don't. I've never made anyone happy. I don't deserved happiness."

"You make me happy," I refute him. I manage to free an arm and coil it around his waist, letting my fingers rest in the small of his back.

"You're the only person." I can't argue with him, but I don't need to. I close my eyes and sigh blissfully. He relaxes his body, lying down on top of me, and I embrace him with both arms, this pale boy I know so much and yet so little about.

At length the water runs cold, and we are forced out of the tub, wrapping ourselves in towels since our clothes are hiding beyond reach in the bedroom. At my insistence, we brush our teeth before returning to bed. Bakura flicks off the bathroom light as we leave, submerging the room in darkness again. Not knowing this room very well, I inch forward while Bakura pads loudly across the room. I hear the bed squeak, and I open my mouth to demand assistance. Out of the darkness, two arms swoop me off my feet, carry me forward at a speed far too confident for my tastes.

"Hey," I protest, "What's your fetish for carrying me?"

"You're a cabbage, Marik. You'd stumble along for the next 30 minutes if I didn't."

I cross my arms and grumble, "Not a cabbage. What does that even mean?"

Bakura chuckles before replacing me in bed. He shoves me back to my side. My side – what would Bakura think if he knew I was already claiming it as my own? I can imagine his mischievous smile as he scolds me in that pseudo-serious way of his. I ponder what life will be like now that I have Bakura: my nights and days filled with him; sitting in the glow of the television on our comfy couch; holding hands everywhere we go, regardless of who sees or cares. Will we adopt children, or will we remain a couple in love with no heir to worry about?

I'm almost sure Bakura has fallen back asleep when I hear him say, "I love you."

I turn my head to see him staring at me, see his eyes shimmering in the streak of moonlight that's managed to infiltrate the curtains. I shift to my hip and lightly stroke him behind the ear. He sighs blissfully and closes his eyes, and for a second, I actually believe I can hear him purring. "I love you too, Bakura. I will always love you."

A lone speck of light slides down the length of his nose, disappearing into darkness once it reaches the tip. At first, I chalk it up to my imagination, but then another one sails across the bridge of his nose. He turns his head and buries the exposed half of his face into the pillow before resurfacing.

I'm so shocked, I forget what I'm doing until Bakura's eyes open, his purring lost, and he asks, "Why did you stop?"

I stumble over my tongue before replying, "Brain aneurism. Sorry."

He grunts in satisfaction, his eyelids sealing as I continue to pet him. No more tears escape that night, or at least none I see before I slip back into unconsciousness.

* * *

When I awake for good in the morning, Bakura's nowhere to be seen. I panic for a brief moment before realizing that I'm in his apartment, which means he wouldn't have left me with the intention of never coming back. The hours I've spent watching Lifetime are starting to affect my mental processes. I decide to put on clothes before leaving the room, but can only find my underwear. I suspect that my shirt and pants must've gotten flung under his dresser; but when I find a flannel shirt that is much too large for either of us lying across the foot of the bed, I get the feeling that they were hidden for a reason. I don the two articles I do have and then go out to find Bakura.

The scent of eggs and maple syrup I've been tracing leads me to the kitchen, where I find a plate stacked high with pancakes sitting in the middle of a tiny, round table. The two unmatched chairs tucked in on either side make it clear that houseguests are rare. I shift my gaze to the stove, where Bakura is standing with his bare back to me.

I start to clear my throat when he turns to acknowledge me, a hot skillet of eggs in one hand. Picking up a spatula, he shovels the entire mess of yellow onto a single plate, replaces the pan on the range, and sits down. His eyes take me in from head to toe before he smiles and motions me over.

I cross my arms and glare, but my irritation is short lived as my stomach reminds me of its existence. I take a seat while Bakura plops a pile of pancakes onto my plate. I want to stay mad at him, but the food is so delicious that I can't.

"Why did you feel the need to hide my clothes?" I ask at length.

"I knew you wouldn't wear the outfit unless I did," he replies simply.

"What's so great about this?" I pull on a corner of my shirt for emphasis.

He shrugs. "I dunno, but I've always wanted to see you come out of my room wearing a red flannel shirt that was too big for you. Maybe it's that I'm your master. Maybe it's that you look good in red."

"Maybe it's that you watch too much TV," I smirk.

"Or that you look good in a dress," he counters.

I inhale sharply, buttering a cake. "You're just jealous that you can't pull it off."

"Oh, I can pull it off." Without warning, he tears me from my chair and flies into the living room, crashing down on top of me as we smash into the couch.

My protests are muffled by the spoonful of food in my mouth, which makes Bakura laugh all the louder. After finally swallowing, I demand, "What was that for?"

"You said I couldn't pull it off. I'm going to prove you wrong." That said, he grabs the hem of my shirt and tears it open, right up the middle. He grins at my exposed flesh. "I specifically bought the kind that snaps together; it's so much more satisfying to rip open the shirt than meticulously unbutton it." Then he begins to pull my sleeves from my arms.

I tuck my hands into my armpits and resist him. "You're not getting it off so easily."

His grin widening, Bakura digs a hand into the crevice between the back of the couch and my ribs. He explores my back, and I'm about to ask what he's doing when a sudden rush of endorphins cuts my words off, and a moan escapes my open mouth. The next moment his lips are at my neck, teasing my delicate flesh in a non-too gentle manner, but it feels so good, I don't protest. But it's over too quickly, and I look up to see that he's risen to his knees, a red flannel shirt in his hand as he smiles victoriously down at me. "Told you I could pull it off."

"That's not even fair," I huff, "How did you know where my spot was? I didn't even know."

"Found it last night. You were asleep, but you moaned out my name, and I knew I'd struck gold."

I shiver suddenly, and Bakura's smile dims. He hands me the shirt, but remains straddling my lap. "If you're cold, I can adjust the thermostat."

"Or you could let me eat," I say, and my stomach grumbles in agreement.

* * *

After we finish breakfast, Bakura retrieves my clothes. When he offers to walk me home, I don't object, happy for his company. "Ishizu will be pissed I stayed out so late," I say as we follow the same route we took last night.

"She'll be fine. You're an adult, Marik; you can make your own decisions."

I grumble a few more words of pessimism, but in the end I have to agree with Bakura. Ishizu knew there was a distinct possibility I would come back without my virginity. She'd even made reference to it last night. Nonetheless, my feet begin to drag as we near the house.

When we reach the doorstep, I turn to Bakura and hug him. "If you never see me again, tell yourself that I love you."

He snorts and yanks me into a kiss. It's briefer than I would've liked, but we both know that we'll share more in the very near future. With one final goodbye, Bakura leaves me to face my sister.

Ishizu's standing at the door before I can even wrestle my key out of the lock. That playfully judgmental smirk is back, and she combs her bronze fingers through my tangled hair before saying, "You're surprisingly more of a mess than I thought."

I stick my tongue out at her. "How was your night alone with Odion?"

She shrugs. "We played Monopoly. I dominated him. The usual."

"M'hm. And where is my big brother?"

"In the kitchen," comes Odion's deep voice, "I'm making cranberry waffles."

"Bakura told me he fixed you breakfast," Ishizu says as we join him at the table. "That wasn't simply an innuendo, was it? He did actually feed you?"

I blush so fiercely that my cheeks turn purple. "Yes! We had pancakes, for your information. They were delicious."

"And I assume you didn't take your vitamins." She passes me the bottle of supplements, but allows me to choose my own dose.

"They wouldn't fit in my purse," I reply, and she chuckles good-naturedly.

"Alright, I'll drop the subject. So what's on the schedule for today?"

* * *

**A/N: Alright, I've got this part done. I'm giving everyone time to catch up before I redo this whole mess, though, so bear with me. Thanks for your support, and I hope to prove myself worthy of it.**


	2. A

**A/N: I realized I didn't set up the background very well, so hopefully this chapter will clear a lot of things up. Finals are over for me (yay!) and I passed with high marks, so I'm rather happy. Anyway, gonna get into the action now, so enjoy this psychotic use of my time!**

* * *

Today marks the official beginning of summer for the students of my and Bakura's university. As I sit in my room cleaning – which I didn't have time to do this whole semester – I think back to the day that Bakura and I first met. It was freshman year, and I knew no one. Most of the students were friendly, glad to introduce themselves to everyone, but that one white-haired kid I had three classes with never acknowledged a single word thrown his way, not even from the professors who were more than willing to help us transition into this new, independent lifestyle.

I might have left the kid alone, but we had our Tuesday afternoon lab together and we were the only students without partners. That was when I learned Bakura's name, and from there our friendship flourished.

Looking back, it seems silly that it took until the end of sophomore year for our relationship to get serious. I remember having a crush on him midway through second semester of freshman year, but he never seemed that interested in being more than my friend until this semester, and I never pushed it because I didn't want to ruin what we had. I think that's part of the reason I was so unsure when he asked me out a couple of weeks ago. For one, it was a weird time: the week before final exams; honestly, I thought he was having a nervous break or something. I mean, we'd been flirting off and on for the past year, but he never seemed serious until that night – the night before the most important night of my life. It seems so sudden now, that we could go from best friends to sleeping together within the span of a weekend.

The doorbell rings, interrupting my memories, and I struggle to force the blood back into my legs after sitting cross-legged for hours.

"I'll get it!" Ishizu volunteers when she sees me coming down the hall. I swear she does it on purpose – waits until I've stopped what I'm doing to answer the door. Sometimes I catch her watching for me at the end of the hallway, making sure I leave my room first. I would just continue on with my business and not give her the satisfaction, but I'm pretty sure she would ignore the bell just to spite me.

Bakura walks into my house and shoves a wad of cash into my hand. "I sold back your maths book like you wanted. Bloody swiz, but I negotiated you a much fairer price, free of charge. Now you have plenty of money to take me out for ice cream."

Before I can reply, Ishizu tells him, "We're just about to have lunch. Would you like to join us?"

Bakura glances sideways at me, and I nod encouragingly. He shrugs and says, "Why not?"

"Great! You're the cook. Go make your famous pancakes." She ties an apron I hadn't noticed before around his waist and shoves him toward the kitchen.

"Ishizu!" I whine, slapping a hand over my eyes, "Why must you always embarrass me?"

"Better hurry," she whispers loudly to Bakura, "Marik gets cranky when he's hungry."

Bakura laughs at my expense, but I forgive him because at least he didn't start it.

"Odion! Ishizu's picking on me."

My brother immediately stomps into the room, throws his arms around her, and carries her to the table. "Woman, what are you doing out of the kitchen?"

Ishizu flails melodramatically, giggling without restraint until Odion sets her down in front of the stove. Bakura and I join them at the table, where our meal is already waiting for us, four places set even though I hadn't told my sister that Bakura was coming. But then, she always did know things without explanation.

"Here," Bakura says, handing Ishizu her white apron, "It bleaches my skin too much. Yours, however, would look great in white."

Ishizu smirks. "Yes. How unfortunate that I will never get to wear a white dress; at least, not with these two knuckleheads needing my constant attention."

"I'll be more than happy to take this one off your hands," my boyfriend replies, deftly locking arms with me.

"Don't get my hopes up unless you intend to keep your promises."

Bakura nods. "I do intend. However," he gestures to Odion, "you're on your own with this one."

She smirks wryly. "I'm sure I'll manage."

We help ourselves to the food, talking and laughing with ease, as though we four had always known each other, always shared meals together.

"Marik tells me you're studying to be a doctor," Ishizu begins, offering a roll to Bakura.

"That's right," he replies before shoving the sphere of bread into his mouth.

I pick up the conversation. "That's how we became friends – since we're both Biology majors, we have a lot of classes together. In fact, Bakura owes me his life; without my constant companionship, he would have dropped out of school a long time ago."

Bakura struggles to protest, but the food in his mouth makes it difficult to talk. I cackle briefly, punching him in the arm. "That'll teach you to stuff your mouth so full."

He glowers at me, then sticks his tongue out, displaying globes of partially-chewed dough, which makes me grimace in disgust. He swallows at last, chuckling at his revenge, but suddenly stops short and grabs his head. My amusement dissolves immediately. "Kura, what's wrong?"

He frowns, squeezes his eyes shut briefly, but straightens up and releases his head. "It's fine. Just a headache. You don't by chance have any Excedrin on you?"

I shake my head apologetically. "Sorry. We don't keep painkillers in the house; not since –" but I cut myself off, seeing the pain of the memory on my brother and sister's faces. "Never mind."

"It's okay to tell him, brother," Ishizu says, although her sudden frown would say otherwise. When I don't speak up, she turns to Bakura and says, "Our mother died of an overdose about 6 years ago. Since then, we've steered clear of drugs. The only thing we keep around the house is vitamins."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I had no idea." He takes my hand under the table and squeezes it supportively.

"We don't talk about it," she continues, "It's in the past, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"We've managed just fine by ourselves," I add, finding my tongue at last, "It was hard at first, but we've grown closer as a family in spite of it."

Bakura nods, and I lean over so that he can kiss my forehead. Ishizu clears her throat and redirects the conversation, and soon we're talking and laughing like normal again.

* * *

After lunch, Bakura steals me away with the promise to Ishizu that he'll bring me back later when he's done torturing me. With his hand in mine, we escape into the afternoon sunlight.

"So, where are we going?" I ask him as he leads me down a route I'm quickly becoming familiar with. I already know he plans to take me to his apartment, but I ask anyway because I don't want to seem expectant.

"The chores need doing, and you look so sexy cleaning my place in only your pants."

"I thought you'd like me to remove my pants and only wear my underwear."

Bakura rolls his eyes. "Yes, Marik. That's what I meant."

"Oh." I pull him closer, wrap my arms tightly around his, and crane my neck to kiss the edge of his jaw. I get the sudden urge to rub my face against his, and I tug on him to get better access to his throat, nuzzling him.

"For gods' sake, Marik! I'm trying to walk."

I release him immediately, my lower lip pouting contrary to the fact I'm trying to hide how much his sharp anger has wounded me. "Sorry," I mumble, bowing my head and allowing my hair to hide my eyes from his. I give him a foot of space, making sure I don't accidentally touch him again.

We walk in silence for another block, the sound of our feet slapping the pavement the only noise between us. But when we round a corner into the alleyway nearest his door, Bakura grabs me suddenly, pins me against the wall. Not bothering to move my hair, he presses his lips to mine, and I feel his tongue enter my mouth with a mixture of his and my hair. I'm so caught off guard that I can't even respond until he decides he's finished.

"Forgive me?" His voice is ragged, bristling with emotion, which makes me squirm inside because we are never this raw with each other. But before I can answer, he's at his door, forcing it open and yanking me inside. I lock it behind me as usual, but when I turn around to confront him, he's not there.

"Bakura?" I call out, searching through each room until I hear the tap running in his bathroom. "Bakura!" I demand, knocking on the door. And then I hear it – the telltale clicks of a bottle of pills.

Before I know what I'm doing, the knob is in my hand, jerked open so hard that I'm fairly sure I must've broken the lock. At the sink stands Bakura, an orange bottle of pills in his hand. His eyes are wide with startle, but somehow manage to grow larger when I snatch it from his hand. "What the hell are you doing with these?"

"Marik, it's not what it looks like. You don't understa–"

"Don't you tell me what I don't understand! These are some very serious looking pills. What are you doing with them?"

Bakura pales considerably, opening and closing his mouth like he can't remember how to talk. "Please," he says instead, "Please don't make me tell you."

I set my jaw furiously. "What? Tell me what?"

Bakura stares at me for a long time, debating or something, I guess. Finally, he sighs in defeat. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you. I should've known I wouldn't be able to keep it from you forever. Let's have a seat, Marik." When I don't respond, he beseeches me, "Please."

I realize that I'm not being fair to him, so I move aside and allow him to show me to the bed. We sit down, but I retain the pills in my fist. Bakura bows his head briefly before meeting my eyes, but the sorrow within them is so far from what I expect that I soften my glare by default. Absentmindedly, I take his hand and stroke it with my thumb.

"Marik," he squeaks, then clears his throat and continues. "These pills are not painkillers. They are an experimental medication for systemic sclerosis sine scleroderma, an autoimmune disease that causes systematic failure in vital organs."

"Okay. So why do you have them? Are they for school?"

I know the answer before he gives it, but it doesn't fully register until the tears crowd on the rims of his eyelids. "Marik, I have a terminal illness. I'm taking these pills because none of the other treatments have worked. These are my last shot at a future." He wipes away the trio of droplets that escapes his careful barrier. "The reason I've been so bipolar for the last few weeks is because of the side effects. As you may have noticed, it's been hard to keep my emotions in check."

I stare at him until the words come on their own. "How long have you had it?"

"I was diagnosed at 14. I've been to 37 doctors across three different continents since then. They all had the same thing to say: no cure. That's why I took so long to ask you out; I was afraid to get attached because I didn't want you to get hurt when I die."

I take an unsteady breath. "How long did you plan to hide this from me?"

Bakura's cheeks flush scarlet, and he won't meet my gaze. "I didn't plan on telling you at all. I had hoped that I would last til the end of college, and that we would just drift apart once we'd graduated."

"Why?" I demand, "Why would you keep such a thing from me?"

He grips my hand tightly. "I wanted to spare you the pain. I never wanted you to hurt over me. I love you, and I couldn't stand the thought of hurting you. "

My fury dissolves, replaced unwillingly by remorse. "Bakura," I whisper, "I'm sorry. I – I didn't know."

He brushes a lock of hair behind his ear, allowing me to see his earthy eyes. "I didn't want you to know. I'm so sorry, Marik. I'm so sorry." And they cascade down his cheeks like waterfalls mirrored across a façade of white rock. In that instant, I draw him to my chest, cradling him in my lap as I stroke his hair, his back, every surface of his upper body I can touch. He buries his face in my shirt, but I can feel the tears he tries to hide.

I kiss his forehead for lack of a better way to comfort him. "It's alright, Bakura. Everything will be fine. We'll find a way to reverse this – I swear we will. We're both Biology majors; we'll study everything that we can. I will not rest until I have found the cure for your illness."

He cries harder but nods weakly, and we sit in silence in his bedroom until he pulls himself together. When at last he meets my eyes, the fear is gone. His eyes have steeled, but he gently caresses the side of my face, coaxing me into a kiss. His lips are taut, thinner and less soft than usual, but they are his lips, and so I lavish heat and passion and tenderness upon them. "I love you," he whispers, his voice catching at the end.

I embrace him, hold him securely against my chest as I ease myself onto my back. His breathing calms as we lie there, entwined, the stillness overtaking us, and soon he's fallen asleep in my arms. But I lie awake for an eternity longer, my mind too overwhelmed to rest. Then, before I know it, I've drifted to sleep as well.

* * *

**A/N: Alright, I'm ready for the angry comments. Lay them on me.**

:D


	3. M

**A/N: This chapter contains a much more graphic scene than the last one, along with courser language, though just a tad. But I guess if you're actively seeking out an M rated story, you probably expect this.**

* * *

It has been sixteen days since last I touched Bakura, nine since I even talked to him. It's not that I don't feel attracted to him anymore – I really do, and it hurts me not to hold him as we used to hold each other. But since I learned about his illness, I've had a hard time coping with the fact that the first person I've ever loved is going to leave me before we get a chance to have a real life together. It sounds selfish – honestly I hate myself for treating him this way, for not putting his feelings before mine – but how am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to just accept the fact Bakura will be dead before I reach my 40s? I can't accept that! I just can't.

I push my sun-bleached hair out of my face, forcing myself to breathe. It's a mechanism I learned when my mother died – focus on moving air in and out of my lungs when the situation seems too much to handle. My eyes flit to my phone, noting with pain its total lack of activity. He hasn't called me in over a week, but why should he? I made it clear, whether I intended to or not, that I wasn't willing to make it work, to be there for him over the few short years ahead of us as I watch his body disintegrate before my eyes. Under normal circumstances, Bakura could never be compared to a flower; but now, in the most tragic way I can think of, his life is sickeningly parallel to that of a rose: a small bud with so much potential; beautiful as it blooms and reveals itself to the world; plucked from its sustenance by the unwitting hand of fate; closed off from the world as it waits for death; withers silently behind the façade of its bright skin, rotting from the inside out; dried up to a shell of its former self until it becomes so brittle, the slightest provocation shatters its remaining life.

I'm revolted by the thought of leaving Bakura alone, allowing him to deteriorate without another soul to stand by him, a pillar to lean on when the last of his strength oozes from his bones, someone to simply care at all that he won't be on this earth anymore. And I hate myself for relinquishing him to this subclass of existence, knowing that the one person he thought he could depend on won't even call him to make sure he hasn't killed himself.

I shudder at that last thought. Suicide. It's a word I never gave much thought to until my mother killed herself when I was 14. Since then, I have always been cautious not to take it too lightly, not to associate myself with people who seemed likely to commit such a heinous act. I think back to what Bakura said that evening. _I never wanted you to hurt over my death._ Had I not been avoiding the very same thing? I never dated anyone until Bakura came along, never wanted to feel the pain of losing another person I love. But then, why did I say yes to Bakura? Why did I give him a chance when I never would before?

It is then that I realize there must be a reason both of us broke our number one rule: not to get involved in a hopeless relationship. And at that moment, when I realize I need Bakura as much as he needs me, I know I must act. So with a swift flick of my wrist, I have my mobile pressed against my ear, the speaker ringing with the repercussions of my decision.

I wait with bated breath, unsure whether to hope that he answers or not. "Hello?"

Relief washes over me, and I know I've made the right choice. "Hey. It's Marik."

"I know who it is. Despite your attempts to the contrary, I haven't forgotten your voice yet."

I bite my lip. "I know. I'm sorry about that. I've been a total ass."

"Yes you have," he replies, but the light chuckle at the end gives me hope that I can salvage this yet.

I twist my fingers through a lock of hair dangling in my face. "Can I see you?"

The pause between my question and his answer is enormous, and I open my mouth to apologize for disturbing him when finally he says, "I'd like that."

I chuckle almost too cheerfully. "Great. When can I come over?"

On the other side of the line, Bakura blows into the speaker, softly like a sigh. "Anytime, as long as you don't mind the mess."

"How about now?"

"Yea–" his voice breaks, and he clears his throat, "That would be fine."

I gather my keys quickly and rush toward the front door. "Hey Ishizu. Going out. Bye." The door hits the jamb and bounces off, but I can hardly care for all the excitement rushing through me. I have never traveled this path alone, but I know it so well I don't even pay attention. I'm at his doorstep in less than a moment, as if time forgot to include me in its grand scheme.

"Bakura," I shout as my fist hits the wood, and some of its grayish paint crumbles against my skin. The door jerks inward as I pull my hand back for the second knock. Bakura stands before me, his hair a tangled mess as though he hasn't brushed it since last I saw him. I imagine I can't look much better – I haven't slept well in the past few days. Before he can invite me in, I have him in my arms, pressing my trembling lips to his in a kiss so disorienting, I'm not quite sure what to call it. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I whisper, compelling my words forward before the tears can choke them back, "I was stupid. I was afraid. And I was wrong. But I know now that you're all that matters to me, and even if I don't have a full lifetime with you, I want to take advantage of every second we _do_ have together. Please, Bakura. Let me be that man for you."

His soul peeks through his mocha irises, and the pain that has been radiating from them gives way at last to the warmth my own soul offers from behind my lilac eyes. He tips his head forward until our eyebrows knit, his nose slides past mine to tickle my cheek, and his lips stop no more than a centimetre from mine. His buttery breath sends tingles down my spine as it trails its tendrils across my sensitive skin, and I struggle to control myself. His lips brush mine, but pull away without satisfying me, and I follow them irrepressibly. A grin spreads across his face, and I whisper, "You're just torturing me now, aren't you?"

He kisses me as if to answer, withdrawing once more to say, "You deserve it a little," before we submerge ourselves in a passion so foreign, I neglect to breathe until my lungs protest with a sudden gasp. We're groping each other, latching onto every available patch of exposed flesh until we run out of it and must resort to tearing each other's clothes off. We move as a single unit toward the bedroom, articles falling like bread crumbs behind us.

The moans escape my throat freely now, and I'm sucking away the pallor of his neck when I look up and realize something. "The door, Bakura. Dammit, I left the door open."

"Fuck the door," he laughs, continuing to unbutton my shorts.

"But then I can't fuck you," I reply, which humors him so much that he allows me to go back and shut it.

The bed is further away than I remember, but we manage to reach it with one sock left to spare. He throws me onto my back, straddling my lap with a smile so wide, I'm quite terrified, but in a good way. He has me pinned down by the shoulders, and a wave of lust builds inside me. "You're about to screw me up real nice, aren't you?" I drawl, to which he just nods before lowering his crotch to mine. He grinds against me, and the agony is unbearable. I clutch his hips in my palms, hoping to dissuade him from torturing me further, but he cackles at my longing and continues to taunt me. "Please," I pant, hooking my thumbs into the crevices between his inner thighs and his groin. "Please."

His wild smile melts into something alluring, and his grip on my shoulders loosens as he shimmies down my body so painstakingly slowly, I feel the need to shove him, though only a bit. He laughs again before taking ahold of me and caressing my throbbing muscle with the tip of his tongue. Then, just when I've had enough of his games, he takes me into his mouth, and the tsunami of desire crashes down on me, mingling with the pleasure that gives my body quakes, and I understand why Bakura was so uncharacteristically spastic when I went down on him for the first time.

"Oh gods," I moan, digging my nails into the sides of his bed, gripping the sheets so tightly my knuckles turn white. And just when I think it can't get better, I peak, and euphoria spreads throughout my entire body. I feel Bakura pull away, but he doesn't lay down beside me, and when I open my eyes, his mouth is opened wide with what must be my essence conglomerating in the pocket he's made with his tongue. "Ew," I cringe, "Why would you show me that?"

He swallows and flings himself down beside me. "Most guys like to see their handy work."

"Not me," I confess.

"Well I do. It would be nice if you could do that for me the next time we have sex."

I kiss him on the lips, but he tries to shove his tongue into my mouth, and so I pull away. "Keep misbehaving, Kura. We'll see whether I think you deserve it next time."

He chuckles before wrapping an arm around my waist. Glancing over at the crumpled sheet on the other side of me, he says, "You really tore my bed up, didn't you? I'm almost afraid to see what you would do to my back were I to top you."

"Wait, is that possible? Can I be on my back while you… well, you know."

"Anal, Marik. And yes, I believe so. Not that I've tried it before, but I'd be willing to test the theory with you. Would you like that?"

I swallow without reply, but all Bakura need do is look down to see my answer. And he does, grinning in approval. "Well, then it's settled. But if I top you – and it works – I want you to also try."

"You do? But I thought you were a guy that liked to wear the pants in the relationship."

Bakura kisses my jawline. "I do, but I'd also like to lay back and watch you do all the work once in a while."

* * *

**A/N: Because I have a limited number of chapters to fit this whole story into, I went back and rearranged these four chapters (three now). Since I did this, I added a few more details to make them flow better. Enjoy!**

:E


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